


partners in crime

by elizaham8957



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Detective AU, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kinda, Modern AU, Murder Mystery, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, but... festive, for jonerys secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Somehow murders always seem more wrong during the holidays.Although the radio’s incessant stream of “Jingle Bells” probably is enough to inspire someone to commit homicide, she supposes, there’s something extra wrong about seeing a dead body surrounded by Christmas decorations. It’s an ultimate paradox, Daenerys thinks— the office lobby she’s just been led into is full of smiling snowmen and jolly Santas, a beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing proudly in the center. And then underneath the branches is a body with three gunshot wounds through the chest lying there like an unwanted present.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 68
Kudos: 386





	partners in crime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWolvenStorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolvenStorm/gifts).



> Merry Christmas everyone!! 
> 
> I was so excited to have Shayl for Jonerys Secret Santa and I had a BLAST writing this murder mystery/ buddy cop au as her gift! This was really different than anything I'd ever written and I now have SO much more respect for people who write mystery fics. It's HARD, y'all. But this was a welcome challenge and I had a lot of fun attempting to pull it off!! Hopefully you like this Christmas murder mystery. :) 
> 
> I hope everyone else is also having a happy holiday if you celebrate-- and I will have another little Christmas story set in the WTWTA universe up tonight as well :) Merry Christmas, and enjoy!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49273965316/in/dateposted-public/)

Somehow murders always seem _more_ wrong during the holidays. 

Although the radio’s incessant stream of “Jingle Bells” probably _is_ enough to inspire someone to commit homicide, she supposes, there’s something extra wrong about seeing a dead body surrounded by Christmas decorations. It’s an ultimate paradox, Daenerys thinks— the office lobby she’s just been led into is full of smiling snowmen and jolly Santas, a beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing proudly in the center. And then underneath the branches is a body with three gunshot wounds through the chest lying there like an unwanted present. 

“Morning,” Dany says, handing Missandei a latte. “Sorry I’m late. Line for coffee was ridiculous.” 

“It’s the Christmas coffee flavors,” Missandei says with an amicable roll of her eyes. “The price we pay for gingerbread lattes.” 

Dany huffs in laughter. “I suppose. What did I miss?” 

“Not much,” she says with a shrug. “Forensics just arrived, though I think it’s fairly obvious cause of death is multiple GSWs. A personal assistant found the body when he came in this morning.” 

“It would be hard for the janitors to miss this, so time of death is sometime late last night?” she asks, taking a sip of her own peppermint mocha. Missandei nods. 

“Probably. Shell casings are here, and there’s lots of blood in the carpet, so the body probably wasn’t moved.” 

“Did he have an ID on him?” At that, Missandei huffs. 

“Don’t need one,” she says, shrugging. Dany makes a face. 

“Why not?”

“Go look at him yourself.” 

Dany gives her friend a strange look, stepping closer to the body, still swarmed by forensic and crime scene analysis people. Her jaw drops as she catches sight of the man’s face, immediately understanding Missandei’s reaction. 

“That’s Robert Baratheon,” she says quietly. Missandei nods next to her; she hadn’t even noticed her come to join her. Her eyes stay glued to the dead man on the floor— there’s no mistaking the multi-millionaire business mogul, even with three gunshot wounds in his chest. Dany’s never particularly liked the man— he seems like an utter asshole from all the times she’s seen him on television— but seeing his dead body on the floor before her is something entirely different. 

The team makes quick work of the rest of the crime scene, and they’re back at the precinct within the next two hours, reviewing everything that was found and outlining next steps. “We’ll call in his wife, Cersei,” Dany tells Missandei, sticking Robert’s photo up to the top of their murder board. “Hopefully she’ll know of any enemies he may have had with motive to do this.” 

“I’ll get contact info for her,” Missandei says, turning back towards her laptop. Dany nods, staring at Robert’s photo on the whiteboard, still completely blank. 

A new puzzle to solve, all the pieces still to be found. 

“Detectives,” she hears, turning to come face to face with their captain. 

“Captain Selmy,” she says, offering the old man a smile. “I take it you heard about the body discovered this morning?” 

“I did indeed,” he says, eyes darting to the murder board. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I’ve just spoken with the police chief, and since Robert is such a high profile victim, they’re sending in Major Crimes to help.” 

“No,” Dany whines, resisting the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child. “Tell them we’re _fine,_ we have it more than under control. I bloody hate working with Major Crimes.” 

“Well, there’s no negotiating, because I already tried,” Selmy says. “Their detective that they’re sending will be here in thirty minutes. You can debrief him on everything we know.” 

Dany sighs, knowing there’s no getting around this. “Play nice, Daenerys,” Selmy warns, raising an eyebrow at her. “And don’t forget that they might actually be able to help you, you know.” 

“Fat chance of that,” Dany says as their captain walks away, rolling her eyes dramatically for Missandei. “All those detectives can focus on is their high-and-mighty god complex, because they work for _Major Crimes._ I guarantee you I’ve solved just as many cases as their top agents. We’re just as good as them, if not better.” 

“I know that,” Missandei says, raising an eyebrow. “But you do have to work with whoever this is, so might as well try to make the best of it.” 

“You know, your endless positivity both astounds and horrifies me,” she says, making her best friend laugh. “Alright, let’s get to work before Mr. Major Crimes arrives to muck everything up.” 

They manage to find contact info for his wife in the time they have, Missandei also learning that apparently the Baratheon Corporation staff holiday party was last night as well, at a fancy hotel downtown, not very far from their office. Forensics gets back to them with a window for time of death, and they begin to put together a timeline of the night before. 

And then, he arrives. 

She hears the elevator ding behind them, doesn’t even have to turn around to know the approaching footsteps are whatever _godsdamn_ detective Major Crimes has sent to ruin her life. She turns slowly, trying to put off the inevitable, finally taking him in. 

It’s a good thing she’s very skilled at controlling her emotions, she supposes, because if she wasn’t capable of keeping her face schooled into a neutral expression under any circumstances, her jaw would probably be on the ground.

He’s _handsome,_ Dany can’t help but think. Fair skin and inky black curls that are pulled back and away from his face contrast sharply in a way that’s far too pleasing to the eye. His jaw is covered in a dark beard that does nothing to disguise how good looking he is, brows furrowed slightly as he surveys the precinct, his dark eyes finally landing on her. 

Even the way he _moves_ is attractive, graceful and purposeful and lithe. And his jeans are far too tight to be allowed— they show off every muscle of his sculpted legs. Dany has a feeling that if he took off his black leather jacket, she would think the same about the shirt he has on beneath it. 

“Hi,” he says, and _gods,_ he’s northern, too? What is the universe trying to do to her? “I’m Detective Jon Snow, from Major Crimes.” 

Her spirits immediately dampen. Because, of course, there’s that. 

“Detective Daenerys Targaryen,” she returns, offering a hand for him to shake. His grip is firm, a shiver shooting up her arm at the feeling of his calloused palm against hers. 

“Good to meet you,” he says, nodding at Missandei, who introduces herself next. “So, what do we have so far?” 

They spend the next hour going through everything they have for the case— tentative timeline, preliminary findings from forensics, Robert’s immediate relatives and business partners. Jon nods along to everything she says, watching her with those dark eyes studiously, hardly saying a word. It’s a bit jarring, but not necessarily in a bad way. Generally when she’s forced to work with other detectives outside her precinct, they talk over her and interrupt and try to undermine her with every move. Jon just _listens._

Maybe working with him won’t be so bad, she thinks. 

“We’ve got contact information for his wife, Cersei,” Dany finishes, Jon nodding along, peering at the timeline they’ve partially written out. “She’s agreed to come in so we can speak with her.” 

He doesn’t say anything, eyes still fixed on the whiteboard. “Do we have a list of guests at the party last night? Or security footage from the event?” he asks, without turning to look at her. 

Dany’s brow furrows. “Yes, I was planning on reviewing it after speaking to Cersei.” At that, he turns, his eyes finding hers again. 

“Why aren’t we goin’ over it first?” he asks, making her hesitate. 

“What do you mean?” she says, unsure where he’s going with this. 

“Don’t you think we should review the guest list, see if any names stand out— or if any important ones are missin’, too— and use the footage to see if we can find out exactly when he left?” he asks, blinking at her in false innocence. Her stomach drops, any hope that this might not be so bad completely dashed. She should have known. Just another pompous asshat determined to undermine her. 

“Of course we’re going to do that,” she says, trying to contain the anger bubbling up inside her. _Play nice,_ Captain Selmy had pleaded. “I just want to speak to his wife first, see if she knows anything, or has any idea as to who could do this—” 

“Of course,” Jon says. “But there are still a lot of holes in that timeline. Why shouldn’t we try to solidify exactly what we know before we begin questioning people? That way we know what we’re lookin’ for.” 

Dany’s fists clench in anger, about a second away from opening her mouth and screaming at Jon Snow to _mind his own damn business_ and go back to his own precinct. “Or maybe Cersei could give us an idea of where to look,” she says, teeth grit. “And we’re speaking to her first because I _want to,_ and it’s my case.” 

Jon’s eyes narrow a little at that, his jaw clenching. _Gods,_ it’s beyond frustrating how attractive he is. “It’s our case,” he says, eyeing her. “This may be your precinct, but I’m every bit a part of this case as you are.” 

He may have a point, but Dany isn’t quite willing to concede yet. “You’re right,” she says, watching his face relax just the slightest bit. “This is my precinct. And in my precinct, we interview next of kin _first.”_

He doesn’t respond to that, but she can see his fingers curl into a fist, like an angry reflex, his jaw tightening, brow furrowing. “Fine,” he finally concedes, and she can feel the heat of his gaze, frustration rolling off of him in waves. “We’ll do it your way.” 

As if he has a choice. 

She watches as Jon Snow stalks across the bullpen towards Captain Selmy’s office, trying not to let her eyes linger on his tight jeans and _glorious_ arse. 

If _she_ doesn’t commit murder by the end of this case, it’ll be a miracle. 

***

Daenerys doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone look as unconcerned about the death of their husband as Cersei Lannister does. 

That right there should be suspicious, especially since the longer they speak to her the more evident it becomes that the woman clearly _despised_ Robert, but Dany’s not so sure it’s because she’s the guilty party here. Even so, if she was responsible for the death of her husband, wouldn’t she be trying to hide her disdain just a little better? 

The woman is just plain _strange,_ she thinks. She’d stalked into the precinct in her perfectly tailored dress and six inch stilettos like she owned the place, offering Dany and Jon very little in terms of greeting, flanked by a man who looked remarkably like her. When Jon had inquired, she’d informed them he was her brother, Jaime Lannister, and he had “kindly offered to come with her to support her in this trying time.” Not that the woman seemed upset about her husband’s untimely passing in the slightest. 

“Alright,” Dany says, looking down at the papers before her, eyes darting back up to Cersei and Jaime ever so briefly. “A few more questions, if you don’t mind.” The other woman doesn’t say anything, busy studying her scarlet fingernails, nodding slightly. 

“Did your husband have any enemies, or any rivals? Anyone who would have motive to do this, or would gain something from his death?” 

At that, Cersei _laughs._ “It would be more productive to ask if he had any friends rather than enemies,” she says. “The list of the former is nearly nonexistent. Much shorter to put together, I assure you.” Dany sighs, trying not to let her frustration bleed out. It doesn’t help that she can feel Jon _staring_ at her, his heated gaze boring into the side of her head. 

“Robert had nothing but enemies,” Cersei continues. “All he did in life was screw people over and reap the benefits. I’m not even sure where to begin with a list of people he knows with motive to kill him.” 

“What about business partners?” Jon says, his voice low, and it sends a shiver through her. _Stop it,_ she chides her brain. Not the time or place. Or man. “Is there anyone that would gain significantly from his death?” 

“Not particularly,” Cersei says. “The business goes to our son, Joffrey.” Next to Cersei, Dany notices Jaime stiffen, eyes cast downward. 

“Alright,” Jon says, leaning forward in his chair. “You were in attendance at the holiday party, right? Did you see Robert do anything odd? Was he with anyone that would be unusual?” 

“Not that I can remember, no,” Cersei says, clearly bored. “Though I must admit, I had quite a lot of wine. And I don’t usually tend to give a lot of attention to my husband’s whereabouts.” 

Jon’s brow furrows. “Why is that?” 

Cersei rolls her eyes, and Dany feels like doing the same. What is he _doing?_ “He is a fully grown man, not a pet dog, detective,” she says. “And frankly, I’d rather not watch him flirt all night with every girl there under twenty five with nice tits.” 

Dany blinks, taken aback by the brashness of her words. Well, that explains the loathing she seems to have for her husband, anyways. Jon’s eyes narrow, his dark irises gleaming with fire, and it makes her stomach flip. 

It is _ungodly_ fair how attractive he is. 

“So then where were you, after the party ended last night?” Jon asks, lips curling into the slightest hint of a snarl, like an angry wolf. It would be infuriatingly hot if his accusation didn’t _completely_ piss her off. 

“Are you suggesting my _sister_ killed her husband?” Jaime says, face contorting in rage. Jon, for his credit, stands his ground, silently staring down the other man. Cersei rolls her eyes, patting her brother on the shoulder. 

“Stop it,” she says to her brother, completely unaffected. Either that, or she’s just a very good actress. “Detective, why would I kill my husband? So I can go through a PR nightmare that is certain to make stocks plummet, and enter a legal battle with Robert’s brothers over who gets what share of his wealth? No, I don’t think so,” she says. “For as much of a _terrible_ person as he was, I didn’t want him dead. And I went home last night, after the party. You can ask my children, as they were with me.” 

She gives them another look, eyes cold. “If I had to guess as to who did this, I would think that it was Littlefinger,” Cersei continues, blasé, Jon’s brow furrowing. 

“Who?” he asks. Cersei gives him a look.

“Petyr Baelish. His chief financial officer. He’s always up to something slimy. Trying to make himself an extra dollar. It seems like something he would do, in order to grab more power for himself.” She rolls her eyes again. “I’m not sure entirely how he plans to do that, but I’m sure he’ll think of something.” 

Dany jots down the name, Cersei sighing in discontent as she looks between them. “Are you done accusing me of murder now? Because I must be going. If you need anything else, please contact my lawyers.” Jon opens his mouth to say something more, but Cersei is already standing, and it’s clear to Dany that they won’t get anything else out of her. She feels very little sympathy for him, truly. It’s his own damn fault, due to his accusations. 

“Of course. Thank you for your time,” Dany says, nodding to the woman and her brother. “We’ll be in touch with any other developments.” 

The moment Cersei and Jaime are out of the room, Dany turns on Jon, hands on her hips, absolutely _fuming._ “What in the hells were you _thinking?”_ she hisses, not bothering to conceal her rage. Selmy’s request for her to play nice is _so_ long forgotten. 

“I was thinkin’ she seems awful unaffected by her husband’s death,” Jon says, jaw clenched. “And that despite whatever legal battles she may say she’ll have to go through now, having her son in charge of the company is probably easier than having her husband.” 

“What are you saying?” Dany asks, glaring at him. He glares right back, his gaze unwavering. She finds herself trapped in his dark eyes, unable to look away. 

“I’m saying it seems like she’s hiding something,” he says. “Even if it’s clearly not disdain for her husband.” 

Dany sighs. “I agree. She seems like the type to not disclose information without proper motivation.” Jon blinks at her, his anger fading for just a second, replaced instead by shock that she’s agreed with him. She keeps talking. “However, what exactly is _accusing her of murder_ supposed to accomplish other than assuring she’ll _never_ trust us again?” 

“She already didn’t trust us,” Jon snaps. “And accusin’ her of murdering Robert made her angry. Angry people let their emotions get the better of them, and they do stupid, rash things. They make _mistakes.”_

That… is a good point. 

“Regardless,” Dany says, eyes narrowing once again. “Next time, if we could agree on a tactic _together_ beforehand, that would be ideal.” 

“Fine,” Jon says, hands clenching at his sides. She nods, leaving the room, and once again she can feel the weight of his stare on the back of her head. 

Gods, this is going to be a long, _long_ case. 

***

The thing that most crime movies and television shows skip out on is just how much bloody paperwork there is involved with being a detective. 

All day they’ve been combing through papers— guests lists, phone records, financials, looking for any oddities. Missandei’s eyes are practically glazed over as she watches through hours of security footage provided by the hotel. 

“Still nothing,” Dany says, putting the phone down. “Petyr Baelish seems incapable of answering a call.” 

“Makes sense, if he’s got somethin’ to hide,” Jon offers, still running through the guest list. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t make my job any less aggravating,” Dany sighs. She turns to Missandei. “Anything yet?” 

Her friend shakes her head. “Nothing unusual. And I haven’t seen Robert leave yet either— wait a minute,” she says, eyes narrowing. “I think that’s him there.” 

Dany and Jon both stand, hurrying over to Missandei’s side, ducking to see the monitor. “There he is,” Dany says, pointing to Robert on the screen. He’s standing right by the doors, another man next to him. “Who’s with him?” 

“I don’t know, I can’t see his face,” Missandei says. They watch the two men walk towards the exit, clearly in deep conversation. “Wait a minute, I think we have the tapes from that hall too.” 

Missandei switches the video, fast forwarding to the time stamp, Robert and the other man appearing now in the deserted hallway. They’re clearly arguing, Robert’s face contorted in rage as the other man points a finger at him. But then he turns, his face coming in clear view to the camera, and Dany inhales sharply. 

“That’s Baelish,” she says, turning to look at the photo they’d pinned up on the case board after Cersei had offered his name. 

“And he’s having an argument with the victim hours before he died,” Jon says, eyes still fixed on the screen. Missandei nods gravely. “That’s not a good sign for him.” 

“We have to talk to him,” Dany says, hands on her hips. “Right now he’s our prime suspect. And the fact that he’s not returning my calls already is a bad sign.” 

“We should go to his office,” Jon says. “Even if he’s not there, maybe he has a secretary or assistant or somethin’ that _would_ help us find him.” 

“Does he work in their main building?” Dany asks, and Missandei nods. 

“Yes. Both he and Robert sit at the main office, where the body was found.” 

“Alright,” Dany says, nodding at Jon. He blinks at her once, like he’s surprised she’s actually agreed with him. “We need to talk to him. Let’s go.” 

King’s Landing is always busier during the holidays— the subways are overcrowded with people, the sidewalks jam-packed with tourists trying to get from one store window to the next. Dany’s lived in King’s Landing so long now that none of it phases her— the giant tree they always put up outside of the Red Keep, the elaborate window displays of all the expensive shops along the avenue, the strings of lights that decorate all the trees along the walkways in the central park. It’s beautiful, yes, but she’s seen it all before. It’s almost better to see the faces of the tourists who are taking it all in for the first time, completely enchanted. 

Jon seems just as jaded towards the display, shooting a dirty look at a tourist who’d nearly barreled into him rushing down the crowded street. “Gods, this city is a nightmare at Christmastime,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. Laughter bubbles from her at Jon’s disgruntled expression, unable to smother it before it tumbles out. He just looks so _grumpy._ But at the sound, he looks at her sharply, eyeing her apprehensively as she attempts to regain her composure. 

“Do you not like Christmas?” she asks innocently, and he sighs. 

“No, I like Christmas,” he tells her. “I mainly don’t like the crowds. I don’t understand why everyone in this country loses their mind over King’s Landing at the holidays. This…” he gestures to the storefronts next to them, twinkling lights decorating all the store awnings, “doesn’t feel like Christmas to me.” He shrugs. “There’s no snow. It’s still _warm_ outside.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t really snow in King’s Landing,” she tells him. She’s only seen snow once or twice in her life, during strangely cold winters with freak snowstorms. And even then, the city’s never gotten more than an inch of accumulation. 

“Aye, I know,” Jon says, the two of them continuing down the street. “I’ve lived here for years now. Christmas without snow still feels wrong, though.” 

“Where are you from, where it snows so much every Christmas?” Dany asks, genuinely curious. Jon Snow isn’t terrible to talk to, really. When he’s not trying to take over her case and questioning every decision she makes, at least. 

“Winterfell,” he says, both of them pausing to wait for the crosswalk. 

“Ah,” she says. “Yes, I imagine there’s a lot of snow up there.” 

Jon nods. “You ever been up North?” he asks, looking over at her. She shakes her head. 

“No, I haven’t. It sounds beautiful though. I’d love to see it one day.” 

“It’s different from King’s Landing,” Jon says as they cross the street. “Here everything is so… crowded. People are piled on top of each other. Up North, there’s much more room.” 

“It’s also much colder,” Dany offers, and Jon chuckles, the corners of his mouth ticking up just a bit. Her heart thumps at it, a rush of heat through her body reminding her _just_ how attractive he is. 

“Aye, it is,” he says, both of them coming to a stop in front of Robert’s building. Jon gestures to the door, standing still. “After you.” 

The lobby is all cleaned up now, no bodies on the floor or shell casings decorating the expensive carpet. The receptionist at the desk gives them a wide smile as they approach. 

“Hi,” Dany says to the woman, slipping her badge from the inside of her jacket to hold up for the woman. “I’m Detective Targaryen, and this is Detective Snow. We’re looking to talk with Petyr Baelish about a case. Is he here?” 

The woman’s eyes dart between both of their badges, her smile disappeared. “One moment,” she says, turning and reaching for a phone on her desk, dialing a number. She speaks into it so quietly that Dany can’t hear it, Jon’s look of frustration next to her telling her that the same holds true for him. 

Finally, she hangs up, looking back up at both of them. “Right this way,” she says, standing, and Dany blinks in shock for a moment that it was that _easy_ before following behind the woman. 

Jon comes to walk right next to her, his shoulder almost brushing hers. “So what tactic do you want me to stick to?” he asks her, and Dany turns her head, surprised. For a second she thinks he’s making fun of her, but then she realizes he’s _genuine,_ something in his dark, intriguing eyes that knocks her off balance. 

“I don’t know,” she says, wondering if perhaps her initial judgement of Jon had been wrong. “Let’s just be careful, alright? Cersei said he’s slimy. If she’s to be believed, he’s going to be difficult to get helpful information out of. Directly accusing him of anything won’t be helpful. We need to get him to talk before making any accusations. We need him to corner himself first.” 

Jon just nods, following her into the office that the receptionist has led them to. 

Daenerys can tell from the moment they walk into the office that Cersei is absolutely correct. Petyr Baelish looks just like the type of slimy, scheming businessman who will utilize any means necessary to propel himself forward. 

“Detectives,” he says, smiling at them pleasantly in a way that Dany can tell is in no way genuine. Jon nods at him, the two of them taking the seats before his desk that he gestures to. “What can I do to help you?” 

“I’m sure you know what we’re here about,” Dany says, wondering if he’s unwise enough to play dumb. But he just nods, folding his hands on top of his desk. 

“Robert, I’m sure,” he says, and he has the decency to look sad, at least. “Anything I can do to help you find who is responsible, I will gladly do.” 

“We appreciate that,” Jon says, studying the other man. “We have some questions about him for you, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course,” Baelish says. 

Dany clears her throat, crossing her legs and trying to appear demure. Men tend to underestimate her because she’s pretty and young— especially power-hungry ones. While it’s annoying to not be taken as seriously as her male coworkers, it can also be worked to her advantage, leading to people revealing more than they intend to. And with this man, they need every edge they can get. 

“We spoke with Robert’s wife, Cersei,” Dany says. “She told us that you were much more informed on the business side of things than she was. Can you think of any dealings that Robert may have had that would make him more of a target? Anyone he’s dealt with that would have reason to want him dead?” 

Baelish sighs, sitting back in his chair. “Robert had endless enemies, that’s undeniable,” he admits. “You don’t get very far in this business by making only friends. But I can’t think of anyone specifically that would want to target him.” 

“What about anyone who would gain somethin’ from his death?” Jon asks, and Baelish chuckles coldly, the sound making the hairs on the back of Dany’s neck stand up. 

“I’m assuming Cersei told you that I would be plotting against her husband,” Baelish says, fingers tapping against his desk methodically. “The two of us have never quite seen eye to eye, I’m afraid. And I’m sorry to disappoint, detectives,” he says, beady eyes darting back and forth between them, “but I didn’t kill Robert.” 

“We looked through the security footage from the night of the holiday party,” Dany says, keeping her voice neutral. “We saw the two of you had an argument.” 

“Am I not allowed to disagree over certain subject matters with my business partner?” Baelish asks, mocking innocence. Dany sees right through the act, though, and she has no patience for his sketchy half-answers, even though she’ll never let him see her frustration. 

“Of course you are,” she agrees. “What, exactly, were you disagreeing over, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Baelish sighs, sitting forward. “While I don’t believe it’s any of your business, I’ll tell you, because I too want to find who did this to my friend. And because I have nothing to hide, I assure you.” Next to her, she sees Jon look down, an almost imperceptible smile playing at his lips. She has to bite one back as well. They’ve been speaking for only five minutes, and already Dany can tell that this man has a multitude of secrets hidden away. 

“Robert was skimming money off the company profits,” Baelish says, and Dany’s eyes widen. “I noticed it earlier this week, after reviewing the quarter’s financials. Every few months or so, he would make a withdrawal from the company’s funds, hidden with other charges to disguise it. He’d transfer it through a series of accounts, tracing back to his own. I confronted him about it, at the party.” 

“And what did he say?” Dany presses. Baelish gives her a look. 

“Well, he certainly wasn’t happy to be found out,” Baelish says. “He accused me of meddling in things I didn’t understand, I believe. Though it’s worth noting at that point in the night, he was already several drinks in.” 

“And you didn’t hold that against him?” Jon asks, raising an eyebrow. “That he told you, the chief financial officer, that you were meddling in monetary accounts you didn’t understand?” 

“If you’re trying to find a motive to pin on me, detective, you’ll have to work harder,” Baelish says. “I assure you, I didn’t kill him.” 

“And yet you were the last person to see him alive,” Jon follows. Dany blinks, taken aback by Jon’s brash accusation. They don’t have actual proof of that, though she had suspected it as well. “He left that party with you and then a few hours later was found dead, after you accused him of stealin’ money.” 

At that, anger curls in Dany’s stomach like a wild beast. Now he’s just _blatantly_ lying— they don’t have any sort of evidence that Baelish left the party with Robert, or that he was the last person to see him that night. And making accusations without proof is always a gamble. With someone as slippery as Baelish, Dany’s not sure it’s one that will pay off. 

But Jon seems determined not to fold— he stares Littlefinger down, gaze unwavering and jaw set in a hard line, eyes full of fire. He looks like a wolf stalking its prey, patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce, and if she wasn’t bloody _furious_ with him for disregarding her warnings and her strategies, she would be sucked in to how _attractive_ he looks, wild and angry and almost monstrous. 

It is a _damn_ good look on him. 

“Yes, I left the party with him,” Baelish says, and Dany tries not to exhale audibly, let her relief that Jon didn’t just completely screw them over be known. “But I wasn’t the last person to see him alive. Not that I suspect, anyways. Right after we left the hotel, he received a text, and said he had to go back to the office.” 

“A text?” Dany asks. “Who from?” 

Baelish shrugs. “He didn’t tell me. He hailed a cab and was off. And I spent the rest of the night at an establishment down the street, with a woman named Ros. I can give you her contact information, if you’d like. She’ll confirm that we were otherwise occupied at the time of Robert’s death.” 

“That would be helpful, thank you,” she says. Baelish nods slightly. 

“Now if you don’t have any other questions, or accusations, detectives, I have work I must get back to,” Baelish says, that oily smile back. “If you need anything else please reach out again.” 

_Because you’ll certainly answer your phone in a timely manner,_ Dany thinks bitterly. She still wants to question him further, push him more to see if he’ll give up anything else that’s useful, but it’s clear from Baelish’s expression he’s done talking. Jon and Dany both stand, bidding the man goodbye before leaving his office. 

Dany doesn’t let herself look at Jon as they walk back down the hallway, knowing the moment she does she’ll snap at him. Instead, she lets her eyes skate over the photographs on the wall— all the previous CEOs of the Baratheons’ company, lined up in chronological order for generations. Gods, they all look _so_ much like Robert, every man in the row with dark black hair and those piercing blue eyes. And there is the man in question, right at the end of the hall; the photograph is clearly from some time ago, taken back when Robert was much younger and much more handsome. Still, the cocky grin on his face remains the same, that glint of power in his eyes, and Dany’s sure just from the photograph that he’s always been a complete prick.

The second they step back outside onto the streets of King’s Landing, Dany’s carefully held rein on her anger is released immediately. 

“What the hells was that?” Dany demands, turning on her so-called _partner._ Jon looks at her, seemingly surprised by the venom in her voice.

“What d’you mean?” he asks. She huffs in aggravation— his supposed ignorance is _beyond_ grating.

“You lied to him, in there,” she says, hands on her hips. “We had no proof at all that they left the party together, or that he was the last person to see Robert that night.” 

Jon still looks confused. “Aye, I did,” he says. “Why’s that a problem? We can legally say whatever we bloody well want with a suspect. I can lie to him all I want.” 

“It’s a gamble, though,” Dany insists. “What if they _hadn’t_ left together? Then Baelish knows we’re lying, and he doesn’t give us anything.” 

“Thank you, I realize that,” Jon snaps, anger bleeding into his words as well. “I know how to do my job, believe it or not.” He rounds on her, dark eyes fierce as he meets her gaze, unwavering. Unbidden, her heart gives a thump, want twisting in her stomach. 

_Not now,_ she snaps at her baser desires. _Preferably not ever._

“I know it’s a risk,” Jon insists. “But I suspected that it was most likely true, and it worked. We have confirmation now, anyways.” 

“But that wasn’t what I told you to do,” Dany argues. “I said we needed to be _careful—”_

“Listen, Daenerys, you are not in charge of me, though it seems you’d bloody well like to pretend you are,” he snaps. “I took a risk, and it paid off. Just because it’s not the way _you_ were plannin’ on going about it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” His eyes narrow at her, full lips pressed into a line. “It worked, didn’t it? If we can find out who texted him, there’s our next lead.” 

That is… true, she supposes. But she’s not about to give Jon Snow the satisfaction of being right. 

“Fine,” she says, and she _knows_ she’s being petty, but she just doesn’t care. “Then you can go through his phone records, since _you_ procured the information.” 

He sighs, staring straight ahead as they continue down the street, refusing to respond to her. 

Dany takes that as a win. 

***

Jon does indeed spend the rest of the day poring over Robert’s phone records, not saying a word to her the entire time. Dany can’t say she minds. She uses the peace and quiet to go over Robert’s financials with a fine tooth comb, searching for any sign of this money Baelish had mentioned was missing. But still, every so often she chances a glance up at Jon— Selmy had given him the empty desk right across from her for him to work at— eyes lingering on the purse of his lips, the furrow in his brow, the sharp line of his jaw and the way the muscles in his fingers flex as he reads through the papers sprawled out around him. 

She watches him worry one of his lips between his teeth absentmindedly, and can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him nip at her _own_ lips. 

_Stop,_ she chides herself. This is not the time or place for thoughts like that. And even if Jon Snow is undeniably attractive, even if he sometimes makes her heart pound and desire burn through her veins like fire, he’s also infuriating and stubborn and a _pain in her arse._ He’s come in to take over her case, and he refuses to listen to her advice or her warnings, and she _cannot_ feel anything for him. That is certain. 

But… maybe he isn’t _so_ bad. She feels traitorous just thinking that— any time she’s had to work with Major Crimes it has been _terrible,_ and whatever detective they sent made her life a living hell— but Jon’s not completely awful. He’s smart, and yes, while he does do things differently than how she typically works, it’s like he said: that doesn’t mean he’s doing things _wrong._ And he had gotten that information out of Baelish, even if it had been a risky way to go about it. 

She remembers how he’d smiled just a bit as they talked on the walk to the Baratheon office. How talking to him hadn’t been the _worst_ thing ever. It had almost been… nice. 

Across from her, Jon huffs, shuffling through the pile of papers. He must feel her gaze on him, because he looks up, surprise flashing through his dark eyes, that broody silence from earlier when she’d yelled at him gone. 

“Any luck?” she asks, heart fluttering a little from being caught staring. He doesn’t seem fazed, though, shrugging his shoulders as he looks down at the papers. 

“I found the text message,” he says. “Came from a burner phone, so slim chance we’ll find out who sent it. But the message said, ‘Meet me at the office right away. It’s about your son.’” 

Dany’s brow furrows. “About your son?” she repeats. Jon nods. “Do you think it means Joffrey?” 

“Probably,” Jon says. “Though he had another boy, didn’t he? I suppose it could be about Tommen instead.” 

“Regardless,” Dany says. “Is there anything else in the message, or from that sender?” 

“That’s the whole message,” Jon says, ruffling through the papers again. “There are calls from the same number about every month. I’m tryin’ to find out how far back they go.” He looks up at her through his lashes, eyes falling to the piles of papers scattered across her desk. “What about you? Find that money yet?” 

She sighs. “No. His financials are so convoluted and confusing, I can’t find anything definitive. I don’t even see transfers in from the Baratheon company.” 

Jon’s brow furrows. “D’you think Littlefinger was lying to us?” 

Dany shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not sure. We can have someone on the financial analysis team look at it closer, try to find something I’m missing.” 

He nods, silence falling between them again. “When you decided you wanted to become a detective, did you know how much paperwork would be involved?” he asks, and Dany is so taken aback by his comment that she can’t help it: she bursts out laughing. 

“No, I didn’t,” she says, a smile still tugging at her lips. Jon returns it with a small one of his own, just the corners ticking up. Jon Snow doesn’t seem like the type to smile much— something tells her the appearance of it now is something rare and precious. Something she should cherish.

“The movies tend to skip over how _boring_ being a detective is sometimes,” she agrees. “I feel like if they put in all the paperwork we have to sort through, every cop film would be horribly dull and no one would ever want to be a detective.” 

“I guess you’re right,” he says with a shrug. “Still. I feel like they should tell you about all the bloody searching through lists and records and forms you have to do before you sign up.” 

“Would it have changed your mind?” she asks, arching a brow. Jon hesitates, fingers flexing against the edge of the table again, momentarily distracting her. 

“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “Probably not. Though I didn’t even know I wanted to be a detective at the beginning. I thought I’d join the military instead.” 

“Really?” Dany says, arching an eyebrow. He nods. 

“Aye. I went to school at Castle Black, up North.” 

“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise. Castle Black is one of the most well known military schools in the country, even if it’s perhaps in one of the most remote locations in all of Westeros. “What made you change your mind?” 

Jon looks down, a heavy darkness falling across his face. “My cousin Robb enlisted, and he got hurt very badly. Shot multiple times. He almost didn’t make it. After that my mother begged me not to join.” He glances up, meeting her eyes again, and she inhales sharply, taken aback by the way his dark irises look like molten. “I decided this was a good alternative.” 

Dany nods, not sure what else to say. But then Jon opens his mouth again, smiling just a little bit. “It’s also a lot warmer than out beyond the wall.” 

Dany laughs, the tension gone. “I suppose that is true,” she agrees. “But I thought you liked the cold? Doesn’t it not feel like Christmas without snow?” 

Jon grimaces. “A white Christmas is still nothin’ like what livin’ at Castle Black was like. The snow never melts there. I’ve never been so fuckin’ cold in my life.” 

Silence falls between them both, Dany looking back down at Robert’s financial records. But there’s a part of her that wishes Jon would keep talking. When they’re not arguing about whatever they’re working on, she finds she sort of _likes_ speaking with him. 

“What about you?” he asks, her heart lurching at the sound of his voice again. Which is _stupid,_ probably. “Why’d you want to become a detective?” 

Her lips turn down, heart suddenly heavy. “It’s not a very pleasant story either, I’m afraid,” she admits. “When I was fourteen, my brother Rhaegar was murdered. They never caught the people who did it. I was so angry— my brother was dead, and the people responsible for it just got to walk away.” She meets his eyes, her gaze fiery. “I decided then that I wanted to be a detective. And that I would solve as many cases as I could. I never wanted what happened to my family to happen to anyone else. I wanted to give people closure.” 

“Wow,” Jon says, raising his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, shrugging self-consciously. 

“I know. Idealistic of me, probably. I understand how all of this works much better now than I did as a child. It’s much more complicated than I thought when I made the decision.” She laughs a little, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s a foolish sort of dream to have.” 

“No,” Jon says, taking her aback with the power and certainty in his voice. “I don’t think it’s foolish at all. It’s admirable, Dany.” 

Her heart quickens at the way he says _Dany_ in that northern drawl, the warmth in his eyes enough to drown her. They don’t say anything else, both of them returning to their work, but she can feel the shift between them, something lingering in the air. 

Maybe Jon Snow isn’t _completely_ terrible. 

They work in silence, the only sound the shuffling of papers as they continue digging through. “Hm,” Jon says, and Dany looks up. 

“What is it?” she asks. “Did you find that number again?” 

“No, I didn’t,” he says. “But he did call his lawyer, about a month ago.” 

“Is that suspicious?” Dany asks, brow furrowing. Rich people talk to their lawyers all the time, she’s found. 

“Depends what they talked about,” Jon says with a shrug. “I’ll try to find out.” 

Dany opens her mouth to say something else, but then Jon swears, eyes going wide. 

“Fucking hells,” he says, looking up at her, shocked. “Look at this.” 

He slides the papers over to Dany, and her eyes narrow as she tries to find what he’s been so shocked by. But then she sees it, and her jaw drops too. 

Texts. _Suggestive_ texts. And explicitly graphic ones as well. Dozens of them, from someone named Mhaegen.

“Robert was having an affair,” she says, wide eyes, looking up at Jon once again. He just nods. 

“I know she freely admitted to hating her husband, but Cersei still seems like a jealous woman,” Jon says. “If she found out he was having an affair—” 

“Then it gives her more than enough motive,” Dany says, voice hushed. Jon nods gravely. 

“We need to get her back in here,” he says. _“Now.”_

***

It’s a miracle that they are able to get Cersei in the same afternoon, especially considering she had threatened to involve her lawyer last time. “Speakin’ of,” Jon says, when Dany comments as much. “I spoke to Robert’s lawyer. He’d asked him something about his will, and where his assets went to.” 

Dany’s brows raise, holding the door open for Jon so they can pass into the hall with the interrogation rooms. “Where do they go to? Anything strange?” 

Jon shakes his head. “No. He just said it’s split between his children.” 

“And he didn’t want to make any changes?” Dany says, perplexed. They pause outside the door to the interrogation room, Jon shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“No. Just wanted to know what it said, he told me.” 

“I swear to the gods, this just keeps getting more confusing,” Dany says, sighing. “I feel like we’re missing something here. And not just any trace of this supposed money.” 

“Well, maybe Cersei will have that missing piece,” Jon says, pulling the door open for her. And with that, they walk into the interrogation room. 

Whereas last time Cersei had seemed bored with the prospect of being called into the police station, this time she looks angry, nails tapping against the metal table impatiently. “Finally,” she huffs as Dany and Jon take seats across from her. “Can we get this over with, now?” 

Jon nods shortly, his jaw set in that tense, angry way that makes him look like he’s about to snarl. “We went through your husband’s phone records,” Jon says. “And we found some things that looked quite interesting.” 

Cersei rolls her eyes, giving Jon a bored look. “Let me guess,” she says. “You found messages from all of his whores?” 

Dany blinks, Jon also taken aback by Cersei’s words. Surely if she knew about the affair and it was her motive for killing her husband, she would be more careful about mentioning her knowledge on it. At least, she would if she was smart. And she _seems_ smart. 

“We found messages that indicate he was havin’ an affair,” Jon confirms, regaining his composure. “Which, if you knew about, and it seems that you do, gives you motive for revenge.” 

Cersei huffs, fixing Jon with a withering look. “Robert having affairs is not out of the ordinary,” she says. “He’s been cheating on me practically since the day we were married. Honestly, I hardly minded. Gave me an excuse to spend less time with him.” Neither Dany nor Jon say anything, Cersei’s hard eyes slowly switching between them.

“If you need confirmation, ask Littlefinger,” Cersei says. “He’ll tell you that I’ve known. I’ve always known.” 

“Speaking of Littlefinger,” Dany says, desperately trying to recover from the initial shock of Cersei’s statement and steer the interrogation back on track. “He mentioned that Robert had been taking money out of the company fund, using it for something personal. Do you have any idea what that could be?” 

Cersei shrugs. “I don’t know. The man was absolutely awful with money; if it weren’t for me he would have blown his family fortune ages ago. I never noticed anything in our financials, but I know he had separate accounts that he didn’t tell me about. That way I couldn’t keep an eye over all of his money,” she finishes, rolling her eyes again. 

“Alright,” Jon says, looking about as frustrated as Dany feels. “One last thing, then. The night of the party, Robert received this text message before he left.” Jon slides the piece of paper over to her, and Dany watches her face carefully, waiting to see if she gives anything away while she reads. 

“About your son,” she says, lips curling into a frown. “I’ve never seen this before in my life,” she says, looking back up at them. “I didn’t send it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Unfortunately, it seems like Cersei is telling the truth— either that, or she’s an excellent liar. She looks between the two of them, clearly bored again. “I’m not sure why someone would want to speak with Robert about Joffrey,” she adds. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it could be about. She looks back at Dany, those hard, cold eyes boring into hers. “Is that all? Can I go now?” 

Begrudgingly, they let her go, following behind her a moment later back to the bullpen. “Well, that was nearly useless,” Jon mutters, fingers flexing and curling into a fist at his side. Dany frowns, for once completely agreeing with him. 

“We’ll have to get a financial expert to look at those records, especially after what Cersei said. I don’t think I have a chance of finding what we’re looking for in there,” she concedes.

“Fair point,” Jon says. They come to a stop right in front of the murder board, Dany’s eyes tracing the lines webbing between all the different pictures and pieces of evidence, weaving the case together. He turns to look at her, the openness of his eyes taking her breath away. “So now what?” 

She blinks at him. “You mean you’re actually going to listen to what I tell you to do?” she says. She’s teasing, anyway. Well, mostly. 

Jon makes a face, all broody and put off again, those plush lips curling into a frown. “Just because you’re not in charge of my every action doesn’t mean I’m trying to undermine you constantly,” he says. “And even if you keep _yellin’_ at me, you’re a good detective. So what do we do next?” 

Dany remains frozen for a moment, taken aback by the compliment, the way it makes her heart flutter. Apparently, Jon Snow’s opinion of her matters more to her than she would have thought. 

“I say we get the financials analyzed, and see if we can find these hidden accounts Cersei spoke of,” Dany says. “In the meantime, let’s call Baelish and get confirmation Cersei’s always known about the affair, and see if we can find this Mhaegen.”

“Alright,” Jon says, nodding. “You want the financials or Littlefinger?” 

Dany makes a face, thinking back to their earlier conversation with Baelish, how slimy he was. And how hard to get ahold of he had initially been. “I’ll take the numbers, thanks,” she says, giving Jon a mocking smirk. He rolls his eyes in response, but there’s light in them, a glint of fond affection that makes her stomach flip almost as much as the smile creeping across his face. 

Dany grabs the financial records off her desk, dashing off before she can give any more thought to how the look in Jon’s eyes makes her feel. 

***

“I know who Mhaegen is,” Jon says, making her jump in her seat at her desk. She had been so absorbed in her work she hadn’t even noticed him walk up to her. 

“Gods, you scared me,” Dany says, heart still racing. “Who is she, then?” 

“Baelish says that she’s Robert’s personal assistant,” Jon tells her. “And that she hasn’t been at work since Robert was killed.” 

Dany’s eyebrows raise. “Well that’s certainly suspicious.” 

“He gave me a home address for her,” Jon says. “You want to go now?” 

The subway is just as crowded as last time, especially now that Christmas is even closer. Mhaegen lives on the other side of the city, away from all the posh storefronts and penthouse apartments in a building that looks like it hasn’t been renovated in years. There is no touristy Christmas cheer here, that’s for sure, Dany thinks as she surveys the heavy iron bars on all the windows. This is the part of the city that most people like to pretend doesn’t exist. 

Jon pulls open the front door when it buzzes to let them in, holding it so she can walk through first. Mhaegen’s apartment is up several flights of shabby stairs, the paint on the walls fading and the carpet worm from years of people walking up and down. 

“D’you think she’s home, or do you think she’s left?” Jon asks lowly, both of them coming to a stop in front of her apartment door. 

“I think if she’s left, it’ll say more about her state of guilt than anything else,” Dany mutters. “But I need answers. Something’s missing here, and something tells me this girl is it.” 

“Well, then let’s hope she’s here,” Jon says, knocking on the door. There’s nothing but silence for a moment, and Dany’s stomach sinks. But then the doorknob twists, the clicking sound of the lock being undone preceding it, and she looks at Jon, meeting his gaze. 

“Can I help you?” a voice says, a glimpse of a girl’s face visible through the crack in the door. 

“Hi,” Dany says, stepping closer to Jon. “I’m Detective Targaryen, and this is Detective Snow, from KLPD. Are you Mhaegen?” 

“Yes,” she says, voice full of hesitancy. “What is this about?” 

“Robert Baratheon,” Jon says, and the girl’s eyes go wide, the door immediately closing. Dany blinks, looking over to Jon again, who seems just as taken aback. But then there’s the sound of the chain sliding back, and the door opens all the way. 

“You can come in,” the girl says, stepping to the side. Gods, she’s _young,_ Dany thinks, probably younger than she is. Her face is pretty, but there’s a shadow of fear across it, and a tiredness around her eyes. 

She gestures to the small, shabby couch in her sitting area, taking the armchair across from them, crossing her ankles nervously. “What did you want to know about Robert?” she asks, eyes casting down. It’s clear to Dany the poor girl is terrified— though if that’s in relation to her being guilty of the crime, she can’t yet say. 

“You were his assistant?” Dany asks, keeping her voice low, soothing. Spooking her will get absolutely nothing for them here. Mhaegen nods, eyes darting quickly between the two of them. 

“I know what it looks like, that I haven’t been at work since it happened,” she says, voice shaking. “But it’s not because I’m hiding anything, I swear it. I’ve just… I needed to start looking for a new job. I can’t miss rent on this place.” 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jon says, leaning forward, and Dany blinks in surprise at the look on his face, the soft kindness in his eyes and the little smile that pulls at his lips. Mhaegen seems taken aback as well, chest rising and falling as she stares back at Jon. 

“We’re not accusin’ you of anything, I promise,” he says, and his voice is so level and full of care it’s almost as if he’s speaking to a spooked animal. “We just want to catch who’s responsible for this.”

“Oh,” Mhaegen says, relaxing a little bit. “I… how can I help you, then?” Jon smiles at her— _really_ smiles at her, his lips pulling back to show all his teeth, the warmth reaching his eyes— and Mhaegan blushes, eyes casting down again. Something curls in Dany’s stomach, like a beast roaring in anger, making her scowl at her partner. He’s _flirting_ with their suspect, and it makes jealousy flare inside her, tingeing her vision with red. 

Except she can’t be jealous. That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even _like_ Jon that much, even if he’s undeniably handsome, and occasionally funny, and easy to talk to…

Oh, seven hells, maybe she _is_ truly jealous. 

But Jon is still talking to Mhaegen, and Dany refocuses, remembering what the real priority is here. 

“I’m sorry to ask about this,” Jon says, and Mhaegen’s face pales, “but you were having an affair with him, weren’t you?” She blushes, looking down again. 

“Yes, I was,” she answers, voice nearly a whisper. 

“For how long?” Dany asks, refinding her voice. Mhaegen looks up to her, eyes still so full of _fear_ that Dany feels she has to be hiding _something._

“It started a little more than two years ago,” she says, and Jon nods. That lines up with the dates of those text messages. “But we haven’t been involved for a month or so now. I still worked for him, but…” she shakes her head. “I’m sure he moved onto someone else.” 

Dany pauses, studying the girl. She looks so alone, so afraid, that it pulls at her heart. “Did anyone find out about the affair?” she asks gently. “Did anyone know about it who would have reason to be mad with Robert over it?” 

“No,” she says. “His wife knew, I think, but he said that wasn’t an issue. Other than that there wasn’t anyone.” 

“What about you?” Jon asks. “Was there anyone in your life that would be upset with Robert for being with you? Exes, or something like that?”

“No,” Mheagen repeats. “No one.” She hesitates, almost like she’s debating saying something, and Dany holds her breath, waiting to see if she’ll give it to them. If maybe she knows something that will make everything make sense. 

But then a cry echoes from down the hallway, and Mhaegen turns, face becoming white as a sheet again. “I—” she says, standing up, hands trembling. “I’m sorry, I have to—” And without another word, she bolts down the hallway. 

Jon turns to her, his brow furrowed.I “Did that sound like a baby crying?” 

“Yes,” Dany says, standing as well. There’s something here that they’re missing; something that’s _important._ She looks sharply at Jon again, her jealousy from before flaring again. “Why were you _flirting_ with her?” 

Jon blinks, his eyes going a little wide. “What?” he asks, and the was he genuinely seems confused has Dany rolling her eyes. “What do you mean? I wasn’t flirtin’ with anyone.” 

“Then why were you acting so _smiley?”_ she follows up, resisting the urge to cross her arms defensively. Jon just studies her, and she suddenly feels too exposed, like she’s let him in on too much. 

“I was just tryin’ to make her relax,” Jon says. “If she’s a nervous wreck, we’re not goin’ to get anything helpful from her.” 

“Still,” Dany says with a shrug. “It was weird.” She arches an eyebrow at him in teasing, hoping that it disguises any slip she might have made. “All I’ve seen you do since you got here is _brood.”_

He chuckles at that. “You sound like my cousin Sansa,” he says. “She tells me all the time that all I do is look miserable.” 

“She’s not wrong,” Dany teases, and Jon opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, Mhaegen reappears, and Dany’s jaw drops. Next to her, Jon tenses as well. 

“I’m so sorry, detectives,” the woman says, looking down at the baby in her arms, smoothing his dark hair back from his face. “But I have to take care of my son.” The baby whimpers again, and she looks at him fondly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright, love,” she assures him. He quiets, turning his little head to stare at Dany and Jon. 

“Of course,” Dany says, unfreezing first. The baby waves a pudgy fist at them, smiling widely. He looks maybe eight or nine months old, his bright blue eyes piercing as he stares at Dany.

“Thank you, Mhaegen,” Jon agrees, stepping closer to Dany, a hand drifting to her lower back. It sends a thrill through her, the ghost of his touch against her jacket. “We’ll be in contact if we have any more questions.” 

The moment they’re out of the building, Jon turns to look at her, eyes wide. “That’s Robert’s child,” he says, and Dany nods. 

“Yes,” she breathes. “Those eyes… he looks exactly like him. There’s no way he isn’t.” 

In her pocket, Dany’s phone buzzes, lighting up with Missandei’s name. She inhales sharply as she reads the message, before turning it to show Jon. “They found the hidden accounts,” she says, his mouth falling open slightly. “We’ve got to get back to the precinct.” 

***

“What is it?” Dany asks Missandei the moment they arrive back, hardly stopping to take off her coat. “What did you find?” 

“We found his secret bank account, and within it, a few things,” Missandei says. “First, the strange thing. Robert paid for a paternity test about a month ago.” 

“What?” Jon asks, looking at Missandei, bewildered. “Why would he do that?” 

“Because he has an illegitimate child?” Dany suggests. Now it’s Missandei’s turn to look confused, turning to her friend. 

“We just went and saw Mhaegen, the woman he’s having an affair with,” Dany explains. “Or _was_ having an affair with, I suppose. She has a baby, and I’d be willing to bet money that it’s Robert’s.” 

“Well, that might explain this, then,” Missandei says. “Because we found where the money from the Baratheon corporation was going.” 

“To Mhaegen,” Jon says, voice hushed as he studies the paper he’d just picked up off of Missandei’s desk. “He was transferring money to her every other week.” 

“Until a month ago,” Missandei says. “See how the payments stop?” 

“Hold on,” Jon says, rushing to the desk Selmy had given him for the time being. He returns with another piece of paper, lines of it highlighted in yellow. “These payment dates line up with the phone calls from the burner phone that texted Robert before he died.” 

“Oh my gods,” Dany says, all the puzzle pieces clicking together in her head. The calls. The money. The will. The _child._ “It was Mhaegen that killed him,” she says, turning to both of them. 

“How do you figure?” Jon asks, putting down the paper, Missandei’s eyes fixed on her as well. 

“We saw her apartment,” Dany says. “Clearly she needed that money from him. A month ago, he stopped paying. What else did he do a month ago?” 

“Ended their relationship,” Jon says. “That’s what she told us. They stopped seeing each other about a month ago.” 

“And he paid for a paternity test,” Missandei fills in. “For the baby?” 

“I think so.” 

“But why would she kill him?” Missandei asks. “Now she doesn’t have a job. And he can’t pay her if he’s dead.” 

“The lawyer,” Jon says, and Dany can see in his eyes, the puzzle pieces are clicking for him as well. “He called to check about what his will says in regards to where his assets go. His lawyer told me it says that his wealth is split evenly among his children.” 

“But it doesn’t say their names,” Dany says. That seems like a _gross_ oversight by his legal team, but it’s the perfect loophole for Mhaegen. Dany looks back to the murder board, the pictures of Robert and Cersei’s children— Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. The ones the wealth is _supposed_ to go to. 

“If Robert got a DNA test done for the baby, and it _proved_ that it was his,” Jon starts. Dany’s heart races in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Then that means, technically, that baby gets a share of the Baratheon fortune.” He turns to Dany. “You really think she would kill him? She seemed so fragile. I wouldn’t think she’d have it in her.” 

Dany shakes her head. “She’s a mother, and she’s desperate. Mothers can do unthinkable things for the good of their children.” She looks over to her partner, meeting his eyes, and she’s certain his heart is pounding just as fast as hers. “And now we’ve tipped her off by talking to her,” Dany whispers. Jon nods.

“We need to get her in here now. Or she’s going to run before we can catch her.” 

***

The hour in between working it all out and waiting for a team to go arrest Mhaegen is the most stressful part. 

Jon exhales in relief when two officers finally escort her into the precinct, her hands cuffed and her eyes red and puffy. The poor girl looks hysterical— Dany would almost feel bad if she hadn’t murdered a man. 

“You ready to do this?” Jon asks, voice low as they wait outside the interrogation room. They can see Mhaegen through the one-way glass, hands cuffed to the table, still sobbing. 

“Yes,” Dany says, determined. It’s time to see if their theories are right, and close this case. “Let’s go.” 

“Detectives,” Mhaegen sobs when they walk into the room. “Please, I promise, there’s been a mistake—” 

“It’s alright,” Jon assures her, that gentle, calming voice back again. It’s sort of incredible how versatile he can be in interrogations, she thinks. From snarling like a wolf with Cersei to lulling Mhaegen into a false sense of security with his soft words. “We just need you to be honest with us, Mhaegen. Can you do that?” 

She nods, so Dany speaks. “Is your son Robert’s?” she asks, and Mhaegen sobs again, nodding her head as she looks down at her lap. “And he’s been paying you, so you can take care of him?” 

“Yes,” she admits, eyes still red, shiny with tears. “I… while we were still together, he’d send me money when I told him I needed it. For daycare for my son, and money for the apartment, and food… it’s— it’s so expensive, and I couldn’t afford it with what I— I made as an assistant,” she says, beginning to cry again. Dany inhales slowly, trying to get a hold of her patience. 

“And then he stopped paying you,” Jon says. “The same time he stopped seeing you.” 

“Yes,” she sobs, her brows furrowing, eyes squeezing closed in anger. “He said he— he didn’t _want_ to pay for my bastard anymore. That I should stop asking for— for handouts for _my_ son. He’s never— he’s never even admitted that the baby is his, but it is!” she exclaims, cheeks wet with tears. “And his— his _real_ children all get whatever they want, and want for nothing, and have more money than they can ever imagine!” 

She collapses forward, burying her face in her hands, wracking sobs shaking her body. “Mhaegen,” Dany says, voice firmer. “What did you do when Robert stopped paying you?” 

The girl’s body trembles, her sobs filling the tiny room. “Mhaegen,” Jon urges, leaning in closer to her. She lets out an anguished moan, sitting back up. 

“I blackmailed him, okay?” she says, voice becoming high pitched. “I told him that if he didn’t pay me again— I— I would tell everyone about— and I…” she trails off, body still wracked with sobs. “And he _still_ didn’t give me more money. I didn’t know what else to do, but… I never meant for him to _die!”_

Dany’s breath catches, turning to Jon as Mhaegen dissolves into gut-wrenching sobs again. She doesn’t even have to say anything— Jon just nods, agreeing with her. That was basically a confession. 

“Mhaegen,” Jon says, standing up, looking down at the distraught girl. “You are under arrest for the murder of Robert Baratheon.” He nods towards the window, the door opening to reveal the two officers, ready to take Mhaegen away to holding. 

“No!” she screams, eyes still red and blurry with tears. “No, please, don’t! My son! My son needs me!” The officers just look down as they take her away, something panging in Dany’s chest as well. Yes, she may have murdered Robert, but no one deserved to be neglected like he had done to her and his own son. 

Missandei is on the other side of the door when they leave the interrogation room, clearly having been watching at the one-way glass. “You did it,” she says, giving Jon an impressed smile. “You solved the case. And Dany didn’t even murder you in the process.” 

They both laugh at that, Dany’s heart feeling a little lighter. And then Jon looks at her, something unreadable in her eyes, and Mhaegen’s cries fade even more from her memory. 

“What time is it?” Dany asks, looking at her friend. Missandei makes a face. 

“Late. Night shift is about to come in.” She looks between the both of them. “Should we go get celebratory drinks?” 

“Aye, let’s go,” Jon agrees. “Dany? You want to come too?” 

She smiles in response, and Jon’s lips tick up a little bit as well, making her heart flutter with something that’s not adrenaline this time. “I’d love to.” 

***

There’s a little hole-in-the-wall bar down the street that they always go celebrate at after solving cases, small enough that really only the locals know about it. All three of them order drinks, finding empty seats down at the end of the bar, which is all decorated for Christmas. The icicle lights strung along the counter reflect in the surface of her glass as she raises it.

“To solving the case,” Dany says. Jon gives her one of those crooked smiles, tilting his glass towards hers, Missandei copying him.

“Aye, to solving the case,” he repeats. “Cheers.” She takes a long sip of her drink, burning her throat pleasantly as she swallows. 

The three of them chat as they drink, time passing quickly and the conversation flowing easily. Jon gets noticeably less broody when he’s drinking, she observes— or maybe that’s just because they’re not yelling at each other anymore. 

“Oh gods, it’s late,” Missandei says, looking at her phone. “I have to go. Grey is working late, and I was supposed to let the dog out an hour ago.” She leans over to give Dany a hug goodbye. “It was nice working with you, Jon,” she says, and he smiles in return. “I hope we see each other again soon.” 

“Aye, me as well,” he agrees. “Goodnight, Missandei.” 

She quickly closes her tab and dashes out of the bar, leaving just the two of them. Dany looks back to Jon, admiring the way his eyes shine in the Christmas lights, the subdued heat in his dark irises. 

“You know, you ended up not being as bad as I thought you’d be,” she says, and Jon chuckles, eyebrows raising incredulously. She’s had about one too many drinks for her filter to be properly working anymore. “You’re a pretty good detective, you know.” 

“Thank you,” he says, and her heart flutters at how sincere he sounds. Like he really cares about her opinion of him. “I’m glad I could disprove your expectations.” His eyes narrow, lips tugging upwards ever so slightly again. “Can I ask, though? Why were you so certain I’d be a nightmare to work with?” 

She groans, rolling her eyes a _tad_ too dramatically, probably. “I don’t know. Anytime I’ve had to work with anyone from Major Crimes in the past, they’ve always come in like they’re some sort of all-knowing god and tried to derail my plan every step of the way. Or they’ve swooped in just at the end, and stolen all the credit for work _I_ did.” 

Jon makes a face, finishing off his drink. “Who’d you have to work with before?” 

She shrugs. “A few different people. Hmm… Daario Naharis—” 

_“Ugh,_ they made you work with Naharis?” Jon says, cutting her off. “Gods, I can’t fuckin’ stand him. I’ve never met someone so obsessed with themselves in my life.” 

She laughs, because that’s _exactly_ what she’d thought at the time. “He was awful,” she agrees, and Jon makes a face. 

“Alright. If your experience with Major Crimes is mostly based on that twat, I guess I can see your reservations.” 

“Sorry for thinking you were a prick,” she says, and Jon just laughs. 

“S’alright. As long as you still don’t think I’m one.” 

She smiles at him, heart feeling light when she sees the way his eyes shine, and he leans closer to her, the space between them at the crowded bar shrinking even more. It’s like it makes the rest of the world fall away, the chatter surrounding them just white noise in her ears. The only thing she can truly register is Jon. 

“Definitely not,” she confirms, voice quieter than she’d meant it to be, her joking tone from before gone. Her heart speeds up at the way his gaze changes at her words, his expression growing soft. 

“Good,” he says, the northern drawl of his voice sending shivers up her spine, and there’s something in his eyes— something monumental. Like he’s fighting a war in his mind, his gaze taking her in, trapping her in irises as warm and dark as melted chocolate. 

And then his eyes dart down to her lips, briefly. Her heart pounds in her chest, somehow knowing what’s going to happen next a split second before it does. 

Jon leans in, the rest of the space between them disappearing, and his lips find hers like he’s been waiting his entire life to find out what she tastes like. Her mouth falls open in surprise, Jon taking her bottom lip between his own, hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. 

Her heart is racing so quickly that it takes her a moment to realize she’s not kissing him back. And it would be a damned shame to miss out on an opportunity like that. 

Her lips move against his enthusiastically, drinking in his taste, revelling in the feeling of his plush lips eagerly meeting hers. He’s a lovely kisser, she thinks, sinking her hands into his curls, sighing at how soft they are woven between her fingers. Jon smiles against her mouth, kissing her back fervently, nose bumping hers and beard dragging against her skin pleasantly. He groans when she tugs on his hair, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids, and she still thinks it’s unfair for a man to have such beautiful eyelashes, full and dark and tickling her cheekbones as he pulls her in closer, kisses her deeper. 

She’s not quite sure when exactly she came to care for Jon Snow so much, when he turned from someone who aggravated her endlessly to someone who draws her in, makes her laugh and smile and shiver at the feeling of his lips against hers. 

Jon traces the seam of her lips with his tongue, begging for entrance, and she lets him in without hesitation. Her moan at the feeling of him exploring her mouth is muffled by his kiss, a rush of desire racing through her veins at his resounding groan, heat pooling low in her belly. Her hands untangle from his hair, raking down his chest, feeling his muscles tense at her touch. And _gods,_ she really wants to see what that looks like without the fabric of his t shirt in the way. 

“Jon,” she murmurs, pulling away from him unwillingly, his lips chasing after her own. He presses his forehead to hers, leaning back just enough that she can see his eyes. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

His lips part slightly at her words, eyes darting back and forth between her own, and Dany’s heart pounds in her chest, afraid he might reject her. “Aye, I do,” he says, voice low and gruff with wanting. “But your drink is still half full.” 

At that, she leans back, disentangling herself from his embrace, and downs the rest of her drink in one swallow. “All set,” she says, standing and taking his hand. “Now let’s go.” 

They uber back to her apartment, Dany trying desperately to maintain her composure and not jump him right in the back of the car. The second they’re inside her building, Jon’s hands come to her waist, his body pressed against hers as she leads the way to the stairwell. She fumbles with her keys as Jon presses kisses to the side of her neck, his hands roaming up her sides. 

“Got it,” she breathes, finally managing to open the door, dissolving into a fit of giggles as Jon pushes her inside, kicking the door closed and backing her up against it, lips on hers once again. 

His hands bunch in her shirt, tugging it up and off her body as he kisses her fervently, pulling away just long enough to rid her of her top. “Gods, you’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, diving back in, drawing her mouth open with his lips and stroking his tongue against hers. She moans at the feeling, his hands reaching up to cup her breasts, fingers pulling away the lace of her bra so he can worship them properly. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she manages in between kisses, but his response is muffled in her skin as his lips trace across her collarbone, down to her sternum. Dany reaches for his own shirt as his fingers search for the clasp of her bra, and he leans back long enough to let her wrestle the garment off of him. 

Gods, she was right. His muscles are every bit as spectacular as she’d imagined they’d be. 

“It’s unfair how attractive you are, you know,” she says, Jon finally managing to get her bra off, his pupils fat and black at the sight of her tits. He takes a moment to admire, his eyes sweeping over her form, and Dany’s heart races in her chest at the reverence in his gaze. But the way he licks his lips like a wolf about to feast— that makes a rush of heat go straight to her groin, making her panties damp with wanting, and she can’t take the separation anymore. 

It’s like Jon somehow reads her mind— he catches her the moment she jumps into his arms, her legs wrapping around his tapered waist, hands exploring the smooth expanse of muscle at his broad shoulders. Jon’s own hands hold her arse, supporting her weight as his head drops down to take a nipple into his mouth, Dany’s back arching in pleasure at the velvety heat of his lips against her skin. 

She’s so consumed by how _good_ Jon Snow makes her feel that she doesn’t even realize they’re moving until he’s dropped her on the bed, climbing up over her and pinning her down against the mattress. His lips explore every inch of her chest, but two can play at that game— Dany leans up, bringing her mouth to his neck, suckling at the place where it meets his shoulder, probably leaving a mark. Her hands rake down his abdominals, roaming lower and lower until she finds her goal, pulling at the fly of his pants and wrestling the garment down. Jon curses when she takes his length in hand, stroking up and down his thick heat reverently. 

“Please tell me you have condoms,” Jon says, his eyes like molten as he detaches his lips from her breast, her nipples aching and shiny from his attentions. 

“In the drawer,” she assures him, busying herself with shedding her own bottoms while Jon searches for one. He rips the package open with his teeth as he fights to shove his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them off unceremoniously. Once he’s rolled it on, he kisses her again, messily and desperately, teeth clashing as her hands come down to line him up with her entrance, crying out with pleasure as he sinks into her tight heat. 

That spark of fire she’d seen in his eyes in the interrogation room controls him now, her body aflame as he thrusts into her, making her moan with wanting. Every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his length inside her sets her body alight, pleasure and passion consuming her whole. Jon kisses her again as his hand reaches down to find her clit, rubbing at the sensitive spot and making her back arch, bodies pressed together so closely that it feels like they’re truly one. She nips at his lips, and his moan mixing with the lewd sound of their coupling sends shivers down her spine, _so_ close to the edge that it’s maddening. 

“Jon,” she whimpers, nails digging into his shoulders, frantically pulling him closer. She pulls her leg up, tilting her pelvis so that he sinks even deeper into her, both of them gasping as he stretches her wide. _“Qogralbar,_ I’m so close.” 

“Good,” he pants into her mouth, giving her one last searing kiss before he leans down, his mouth going to her breast, sucking one of her nipples between his plush lips. She cries out as he taps on her clit again, his thrusts speeding up as he fucks her greedily, and then she tumbles over the edge, whining as white stars burst before her eyes, the world around her fading except for the feeling of Jon. He rides out her orgasm, her channel clenching around him, before he too finds his release, thrusting into her a few more times before they collapse together on her bed, sweaty and sated. 

Jon draws her into his arms, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to her forehead. “I really hope that you didn’t do that with the last person from Major Crimes you had to work with,” he whispers, voice still hoarse, and she can’t help it, she laughs. 

“Definitely not,” she tells him, and the sparkle in his eye, the fond affection she finds there, is almost too much. She burrows into his chest, pressing lazy kisses to his sternum as he wraps her in his arms, his chest still heaving.

“I’ll be right back,” Jon says, kissing her again, long and slow, before he disentangles their limbs and walks to her bathroom to trash the condom. He comes back with a cloth for her to clean herself up with, immediately taking her in his arms again once she’s tidied up. 

They drift off to sleep like that, before she wakes Jon up a few hours later for another round, and when he makes her come with just his mouth, she thinks she may just have to find a way to work with him on cases more often. 

“You’re incredible, you know,” he says, nosing at her hair after she rides him, her back flush up against his chest. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.” 

She chuckles, leaning back in his arms, pressing her body closer to him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

“A good thing,” Jon assures her, pressing a kiss to her head. “Definitely a good thing.” 

She turns in his arms, tracing his jaw with her fingers, and the soft look in his eyes practically melts her heart. She leans in closer to kiss him sweetly, much gentler than their kisses earlier. 

And _oh,_ how she’s come to care for him as well. Because he, too, is so different than anyone she’s ever known before. 

“Your hair looks like silver in the moonlight,” he murmurs, before his eyes slide closed sleepily. He basks under her touch, a little smile pulling at his lips as she runs her thumb across his brow, smoothing out the wrinkles there. “I’ve seen people with golden hair before, but never silver.” 

“My family’s from Valyria,” she tells him, and he hums in response, blinking his eyes open sleepily to look at her. “We all have silver hair. Every single one of my family members. People always used to say my brothers looked just… like… my father,” she whispers, heart suddenly pounding in her chest. Jon frowns, sensing her shift in mood, but she can’t focus on anything other than the revelation that’s just come crashing down over her, puzzle pieces spinning out of place and dropping into new slots. 

“Oh my gods,” she says, sitting up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest. Jon’s brow furrows, but he sits up as well. 

“What?” he murmurs, a hand coming to rest on her thigh. The heat from his palm bleeds into her muscle, but her mind is still racing a mile a minute, incapable of being distracted. 

“Jon,” she says, turning towards him, and his eyes are full of concern as they meet hers. 

“I think we arrested the wrong person.” 

***

Cersei Lannister looks completely pissed off to be entering the precinct again at seven in the morning, her heels clicking menacingly on the tile floor. But Dany doesn’t care how angry she is— her heart knows that her suspicions are true, and it pounds in her chest as she and Jon escort her into an interrogation room. 

“Could I please be informed as to why I’m here at this _godsawful_ early hour in the morning?” Cersei says once they’ve taken their seats, lips curling into a sneer. 

“Of course,” Dany says, smiling pleasantly at the woman. “You’re here because you murdered your husband.” 

Cersei laughs, leaning back in her seat. “I thought we’d been over this before,” she says, and while she’s good at concealing her emotions, Dany’s better at sensing them. And she can see that momentary flash of fear in the woman’s eyes. “Regardless of the fact that I have an alibi, why would I kill my husband?” 

“Because he knew somethin’ you didn’t want him to,” Jon says, teeth gritted. “Yesterday, we arrested Robert’s assistant, Mhaegen. You know her?” Jon asks. Cersei rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, I know her,” she says. “She’s in our bloody house all the time.” 

“She has a son with Robert,” Dany says, and Cersei blinks. “He’d been paying for the child, until he stopped, about a month ago. And Mhaegen tried to blackmail him into continuing to pay for him.” 

“Alright,” Cersei says, eyes darting between the two of them. “And what, exactly, does this have to do with me?” 

“Robert had a paternity test done a month ago,” Jon says. “We assumed it was for the baby. So Robert could see if he was really his. But that’s not what it was for, was it? It was for _your_ son. Because he’s not really Robert’s.” 

Cersei doesn’t say a word, eyes narrowing. “Mhaegen found out you were cheating on your husband, didn’t she?” Dany demands. “And she tried to blackmail Robert with the information. But that backfired when he realized his children aren’t actually his.”

“And then you killed him to cover up the truth,” Jon finishes. “So that the company wouldn’t go to Mhaegen’s child. Or to one of your husband’s brothers.” 

Cersei looks between them both, eyes cold, lips twisted into a snarl. “That’s a wonderful story, I assure you,” she says, words like ice. “But where is your _proof,_ detective?” 

Jon’s lips twitch, curling into a snarl as well. “We found the burner phone in your apartment,” Jon says, and Cersei turns white. “The one that you texted Robert from after you stole it from Mhaegen, telling him to meet you at the office. And your maid testified that though you _did_ come home after the party, you left again once your children were asleep.” 

The woman clutches the table in front of her, visibly shaking with rage. “I knew I should have killed that little bitch the second she walked in on me and Jaime,” she hisses, and Dany’s jaw _drops._ “And I’m still not sorry for what I did,” she continues. “Robert has the audacity to cheat on me for _decades_ and then threatens to divorce me the moment he finds out I’ve been unfaithful?” She laughs, coldly. “That bastard got what he deserved.” 

“And now you’ll get what you deserve,” Jon says, jaw tense. “Cersei Lannister, you’re under arrest for the murder of your husband, Robert Baratheon.” 

Cersei doesn’t cry when she’s taken from the interrogation room, though she does curse the entire way down the hall. Dany and Jon watch her go from the doorway, before he follows her back into the bullpen. It’s so early that the other detectives are just beginning to arrive, and Dany yawns, the exhaustion beginning to hit her. She did get very little sleep the night prior, after all. 

“Is it bad that I’m glad it was Cersei?” Jon asks, following her into the breakroom, Dany making a beeline for the coffee pot. “I felt bad for Mhaegen, I won’t lie.” 

“I did too,” Dany admits. Her mind feels settled now that they found the real killer, and that justice has been served where deserved. “I’m glad it wasn’t her.” 

“What made you realize?” Jon asks curiously, taking a step closer to her. She can smell him from here, like fresh snow and pine, and it clouds her mind, taking her back to last night when they were tangled up in her bed. 

“When I was talking about my brothers, and how much they looked like my father,” Dany says. “Mhaegen’s son looks just like Robert. All those photos hanging up at the Baratheon company’s office— all the men look exactly the same. But all three of Cersei’s children—” 

“Have golden hair, not black,” Jon says, and she nods. He grins at her, corners of his mouth ticking up in that way she’s come to grow quite fond of. “That was smart of you.” 

“I wouldn’t have thought of it unless you mentioned my hair,” she says, shrugging. “We make a pretty good team, I think.” 

Jon grins, stepping even closer. “Aye, we do.” His eyes suddenly dart up, catching sight of something above them, and he laughs. 

“What?” she asks, and his head tilts down again, a hand coming to cup her cheek.

“Mistletoe,” he whispers, and Dany looks up. Sure enough, there’s a sprig of the little plant hanging above them, tied with a festive red bow. 

“Well, in that case,” she says with a grin, leaning in. Jon meets her half way, pressing his lips to hers reverently, and he tastes every bit as sweet as she remembers. 

“So,” he says, pulling away ever so slightly, a hand still tangled in her hair. “Would you ever consider workin’ with Major Crimes again?” 

She laughs, eyes closing briefly, basking in the feeling of being held by Jon. He may have annoyed her at the start of all this, but now the fluttering in her heart, the way he makes her feel— that’s hard to deny. 

She leans in closer to him, a hand coming to cup his jaw as he ducks down to kiss her again briefly. And when she pulls away, she knows the certainty in his eyes is matched in her own. 

“As long as it’s you, Jon Snow.”


End file.
